Page 82 of Kiss of Fire

Since the dinner yesterday, Raya’s anonymity had evaporated. Everywhere she went, people dropped into curtsies or hurried to open doors for her. It was quite disconcerting.

“But I’ll be wearing a mask, Pasha. No-one will recognise me.”

“I’m sure Lord Shadeed would want you to…”

“Well, he’s not here, and he’s not the boss of me. No bodyguard,” she said firmly. Pasha nodded unhappily and cleared the table. Raya spent the next hour exploring the Library, curious to see what counted as classic literature for fae and jinn.

The fae books were written in outlandish runes which she had no hope of translating. Strange shapes and symbols which looked like they belonged in a Tolkien novel.

The jinn language appeared a little more familiar though no less incomprehensible; possibly a mix of Arabic and Chinese? She had no idea. For all she knew, it was actually all Swahili.

She found a dark leatherbound volume under the Vetali section and leafed through it. The words on the heavy cream paper were hand-written in some kind of dark red substance. She closed it hastily, hoping like hell it was just ink and nothing else.

Grabbing the Hemmingway from the table, she made her way back to her bedchamber. Pasha had left a long dark blue dress on the bed, and a mask. She held it up to her face.

It was made of green and blue feathers embellished in gold, with peacock feathers rising from the centre. It covered a good portion of her face, and Raya laughed in delight. It was perfect.

Quickly, she got changed and twisted her hair into a knot. She put her soft suede boots on under the dress. If there was any dancing to be done, she wasn’t going to be doing it in heels. Then she slipped from the castle, adjusting her mask as she made her way down the road.

She wasn’t the only one. She joined a stream of people in masks heading in the same direction, all talking and laughing excitedly. The road was lined with flags and pennants, and the music grew louder as they approached the town.

The Melae had taken over the streets, spilling into every road and alleyway. Stalls and carts were parked haphazardly, selling trinkets and toys. Men were wheeling barrels around and curiously, Raya watched a group of youths approach one with glasses held out. A man opened a tap on the barrel and dark gold liquid gushed out.

Beer, Raya guessed. Or cider. She saw the youths nudge each other as they supped their alcohol, barely old enough for facial hair. Underage drinking wasn’t just a human trait, then.

The crowds grew heavier when she entered the main square. People had set up griddles and spits in every doorway. The smell of roasting meat made her mouth water.

Children ran by shouting and giggling, their hands full of candy and pastries. A juggler in a harlequin mask winked at her and threw knives into the air. Gasping, Raya watched as he caught every one.

The town centre was packed with dancers. Bands played on almost every street corner, all belting out their own tunes. It should have been a raucous cacophony but somehow it worked. Men and women twirled together, some in colourfully ornate face coverings, others with just a strip of black painted over their eyes. Most were dressed flamboyantly with feathers, sequins and bold colours. The atmosphere was intoxicating.

An older man with grey hair offered her his hand. His mask was plain white and his eyes sparkled behind it.

“Why not?” she said. He drew her into the sway of revellers. She was twirled and dipped, then pulled into a jig. He was deceptively spry and she laughed, breathless, as she tried to copy his steps.

Raya spent the next hour dancing with one partner after another. Her feet ached and her mouth hurt from smiling but she loved every single minute. It was only as she leaned against a table to catch her breath that she wondered where Tor was.

She scanned the crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of blond hair or strong arms but there were too many people. And they were all wearing masks.

He’d said she’d recognise him, but she didn’t see how. The man in the deer mask was tall enough to be him. The one dressed as a jester had the same broad shoulders.

When she finally recognised him, her face broke into a smile. Of course. He had taken the guise of a wolf.

He gave a little bow in her direction and she pushed her way through the crowd.

“Great wolf mask. But how did you know it was me?”

“The mask hides your face. Not your aura. Dance?”

“Actually, I could use a drink first. Can we try some barrel beer?”

“Barrel beer?” He was amused.

“The stuff on those handcarts.”

“That’s not beer. It’s mead, made from honey.”

“So it’s healthy, then?”

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